


Söt

by myckymaple



Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: M/M, Oblivious Toki, Pre-Klok, Slow Burn, emotionally constipated Skwisgaar, set right after the audition!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-15 04:18:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18066446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myckymaple/pseuds/myckymaple
Summary: Skwisgaar comes to terms with some extremely un-metal, disgustingly mushy feelings he has for the new kid.





	Söt

**Author's Note:**

> Ah! Finally found time to start writing my first fic for the Mtl fandom :) This is sorta mushy! Enjoy!

Skwisgaar Skwigelf was not a man known for being overly emotional. He was an absolute charmer to the young and old groupies alike, but he kept a definite distance between himself and his bedmates, ever the polite, handsome, closed-off gentleman that always sent off his multiple lovers with a suave kiss to the hand and a non-committal wink, hinting at a second round that was unlikely to ever occur.

 

His blase, cool-tempered nature did nothing but draw even more blushing ladies to him, each more provocatively-dressed and seductive than the last. Even the GMILFs often primped themselves up a bit for him, wearing their silkiest, shiniest nightgowns and bonnets. 

 

But no matter what, Skwisgaar kept a certain air of nonchalance around him and he knew exactly how it drove the ladies wild. 

 

Skwisgaar would’ve been content living his days like this forever; known as the golden, emotionally-constipated adonis that could fulfill every woman’s ultimate fantasies, as long as those fantasies included nothing about a relationship or commitment.

 

He’d never even felt much emotional pull towards anyone in his life, not even the sexiest groupies that loitered around after a show.

 

Skwisgaar attributed it to the fact that no one was interesting enough to catch his eye in any way. He was a God of guitar and sex, and regardless of how much the groupies’ skimpy outfits and embroidered aprons tugged at his loins, they never tugged at his heart. 

 

At least, that used to be the case. 

 

Hell, it would be so much easier for Skwisgaar if it would stay that way because he’s extremely happy with his life, thank you very much. He’s a handsome, collected gentleman with refined tastes and raunchy habits. 

 

And these are the reasons he can’t fucking wrap his head around whatever it is he’s started feeling whenever he’s around his band’s new rhythm guitarist. 

 

The audition for the new rhythm went a lot more unpredictably than he’d originally expected, and he ended up going against his own whims and hiring some kid on the spot.

 

And that’s the perfect description for the guy. He couldn’t be older than 16, which was practically a child in Skwisgaar’s opinion when compared to his 25 years on earth. Toki was his name and he was young, naive, and as hilariously out of touch with American culture as Skwisgaar once was when he first immigrated.

 

The kid normally wouldn’t even cause a blip in Skwisgaar’s radar, let along change his course completely. Now, in the comforts of his small, dingy room in his tiny, rundown apartment, Skwisgaar rapidly fingerpicking his guitar, questioning his sanity. 

 

He wouldn’t lie and say that he was completely oblivious to his reasons though. Shocked and appalled, yes, but regardless of what his broken english suggested he was not completely daft to the inner workings of his own mind. The kid had something about him. It wasn’t just ambition and it wasn’t just talent. There had been plenty of those types who had auditioned before him that Skwisgaar completely blew out of the water. Boring mechanical techniques and overconfident arrogance was no match for the brilliant and dexterity Skwisgaar could exhibit with his eyes closed. 

 

No, the kid was special somehow. And it was driving Skwisgaar crazy trying to put his finger on what, why, and how this  _ Toki  _ seemed to shine brighter than a blazing star when he played. He can honestly say without a doubt that he’d never felt that intoxicating burst of pure energy while playing in his life. 

 

The guitar is his heart and his music the blood that flows through it and keeps it beating. It’s the only thing that he can say, with no hesitation, brings him pure unadulterated joy and satisfaction. 

 

The feeling of playing his music was a feeling he never thought anything in the world could top; the best drugs or hottest groupies in the world would never best the feeling of his explorer in his hands, creating the godly music that effortlessly flows through his fingertips

 

He never thought it could possibly get any better. At least, until that kid showed up and showed him exactly what it meant to rise to the highest precipice of his art, experience the exhilarating speed of music pouring out of his soul, and for once in his life, experience this with a kindred spirit, the first person he’s ever met who could so closely match him riff for riff. Regardless of Toki’s abrupt downfall, Skwisgaar was still awestruck at what the boy was capable of. 

 

The fact that this short, half-starved runt that looked like he’d been living off the streets can just waltz in with his beaten up Gibson and push Skwisgaar to higher limits he did not even conceive as possible; it was infuriating and intoxicating all in the same breath. 

 

This young boy with his familiar accent and friendly demeanor. His big, blue eyes and his soft chocolate hair. 

Fuck, his existence alone was doing something to Skwisgaar and he couldn’t stand it. 

 

Those eyes were just  _ too blue _ ! He’d never seen anything like them before, even in Sweden, he didn’t remember ever seeing such big, icy eyes that did something to him he felt too disturbed by to acknowledge. 

 

Suddenly, Skwisgaar was interrupted from his pensive musing by a hesitant knock on his door.

 

“Comes in.”

 

Slowly the door opened and the pair of blue eyes driving Skwisgaar _ mad _ with something he can’t explain peeked through. 

 

“Um… H-hellos Misters Skwisgaar, Nathans told mes I shoulds asks you if I can sleeps in here tonights... Is that alrights with yous?” 

 

Toki, the poor lad, was tensed up and visibly nervous, bracing himself for a rejection and scolding for bothering Skwisgaar after strict instructions to leave him alone and find something to entertain himself with the rest of the band in the living room. 

 

Skwisgaar was exhausted after a long day of battling mediocre guitarists, he wanted some reprieve from everyone and everything. If any of the other members had bothered him when he was in one of his moods, that would be grounds for a litany of angry, barely-understandable curse words, but this was different. Skwisgaar sat up from his bed, setting his Gibson down next to him, and gave Toki a slight, indifferent nod. 

 

“Fines. Just donts be makings too much of the noises. I’m tryings to write a new solos.”

 

“Yes, Misters Skwisgaar! Toki will be quiets! You won’t evens knows I’s here!” Toki smiled widely, making a move to presumably leave and retrieve his meager belongings. 

 

“Toki.”

 

Skwisgaar spoke too fast to stop himself. Toki gave him a confused look and Skwisgaar was internally facepalming.

 

“Justs… calls me Skwisgaar. I’m nots a olds grandpas yet!” He tried to laugh off his mistake. 

 

Toki’s smile brightened even more, something Skwisgaar didn’t think was possible. “Yes Skwisgaar! Tank yous!” 

 

And with that he was off. 

 

It was apparent that Nathan had decided to pawn off the new kid to Skwisgaar for tonight and likely every other night in the foreseeable future until they can figure out a better living arrangement.

 

Out of every member of the band, Skwisgaar was the only one who had his own place. It was a ratty one-bedroom on the bad side of town, but it was his. Pickles and Nathan rented a considerably nicer place together as roommates, where they did most of their recordings, and Murderface crashed (lived) on their couch more often than not. 

 

After they discovered Toki was basically homeless, it made sense Nathan would lump them together. The two matching Scandinavian guitarists, of course Nathan would force them together like two peas in a pod. Didn’t mean Skwisgaar couldn’t complain about it. 

 

“Tsk. Fuckins racist.”

 

“Whats you say Skwisgaar?” 

 

Skwisgaar was startled up. 

 

“Eeuugh! Toki, don’ts comes in without knockins.”

 

Toki looked sheepish. “Sorries… I just wants to says I gots a sleepinks bag from Pickle! It’s… uh… okays if I sleeps now?” Toki stumbled through. 

 

This made Skwisgaar pause. He took the moment to give Toki a long, hard look, something he hadn’t done since the kid completely changed his perception on guitar playing completely. Looking closely, he saw the obvious signs of exhaustion on Toki’s face, his sunken cheeks and dark, baggy eyes. Skwisgaar assumed its been a while since Toki had a comfortable place to sleep and a roof over his head. And a shower too now that he thought about it, seeing Toki’s clean hair and skin which was hidden under a layer of grime just a few hours ago. Did he eat? Surely the rest of the guys would’ve gotten something, though Skwisgaar was prone to skipping meals. Because the kid was definitely in desperate need of a meal-

 

“Skwisgaar?”

Snapped out of his train of thoughts, Skwisgaar forced himself to regain a mask of indifference. 

 

“Yeahs, go aheads Toki. I was abouts to bes sleepinks too.” Skwisgaar waved to a plush white rug parallel to his bed to signal for Toki to take that spot. “Turns off the lights.”

 

Toki happily obeyed and curled up on the soft faux fur rug Skwisgaar was oddly attached to.

 

A few minutes ticked by in complete darkness and Skwisgaar was tense in the dead silence. Then, all too abruptly, Toki broke it. 

 

“Ah… Skwisgaar?”

 

Skwisgaar forced himself to relax and apathetically replied, “Yes Toki.”

 

“Toki just wanteds to says… tank you. I am sos happies I mades it to the audiktions. Toki promiskes you won’ts regrets this. Good nights.” Toki said gratefully with an obvious smile in his tone. 

 

Skwisgaar was speechless. And he remained speechless, until he heard Toki’s soft snoring fill the room. Of course he deserved to be thanked. He was the lead guitarist of Dethklok, a master of his craft. It was an act of true goodwill, him letting this runaway kid join them. Hell, Skwisgaar didn’t need much to fill his ego and he expected all mere peasants to be grateful for whatever he deans to give them. 

 

But this was different. What Toki said, those innocuous, meek words, they didn’t fill Skwisgaar with the usual self-importance. They made him feel strange. Like there was a twisting in his gut and a disturbing pit in his chest that almost felt  _ warm  _ and  _ mushy.  _ The shit normal people probably feel when they see a newborn kitten. Not Skwisgaar though, he was the stone-cold adonis, even kittens didn’t soften his heart. Regardless of how soft their fur is, or how big and beautiful their eyes are, or  _ fuzzy _ their  _ tiny little paws _ -

 

“Euugh!” Skwisgaar let out an involuntary sneer which he quickly quieted. He chanced a glance at Toki’s still snoring form and breathed a sigh of relief. 

 

Yes, fine, maybe kittens had certain characteristics about them that were pretty nice, but Skwisgaar was confused at his train of thought. Whatever it was that Toki made Skwisgaar feel, it was reminiscent of the yucky, gooey emotions small animals inspired in him as well. 

 

Skwisgaar had no clue what to do with that fact, but his exhaustion was finally catching up with him. With a sigh, he rolled over, and fell asleep to the rhythmic snoring of one Toki Wartooth. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> You know that feeling you get in your chest when you see something so painfully fucking cute you wanna strangle it and hug its body forever? Skwisgaar hates/loves that feeling and is plagued by it whenever Toki does something adorable. 
> 
> I'm just such a sucker for fluffy Skwistok.


End file.
